When you realise you are old ….

I have had this creeping sensation in the last two months and that is that I am really old.  I am not getting old, I am old already.

I turn 40 this year (May actually) and it is all a bit alarming.

I do know the part that “you are only as young as you feel” and “age is just a number” but really that is bollocks.

I am turning 40 and 40 is what I deem as OLD.  The only people who think 40 is not old, are people who are 5o or 60,and really they have their own set of problems!

I have always felt like I was in my 20’s, care free, wrinkle free and just having a fun time, on the way up the hill that is life.

But some how, some way, some where, I pipped over the peak of the hill, and appear to be building up a good head of steam to the other side, where the hill pans out to flat earth — I think it’s called death.

I have realised I am the same distance away from being 60 as I am from being 20.  Which is quite sobering. Or in my case encourages me to not have too many sober moments to think about it.

The reality of my situation has become more apparent to me each day, and there is not much I can do about getting old.  I just feel it with

Soon people will be talking to me loudly and nodding and smiling to what ever non-sensicle thing I utter from my pursed lips, with spittle on the corners, and left over Marie biscuits on my hairy chin.

I was probably the person who remembers 1984 — not just because it is a title of a book, but because I can actually remember being there – CLEARLY.

I watch American Idol on television on occassion and everytime they introduce one of those children they have a birthday somewhere in 1990 … and then I want to kill them, so I have decided no longer to watch it as it depresses me, and the show irritates me.

There is no dignity in getting old. I feel physically sick at the realisation that I am old, and every day that moves forward will make me older, and more likely that my arse will get closer to my knees.

Fk it is all so very depressing, and I am struggling to think “happy unicorns shitting on fairy” thoughts.  I feel bleak.  I feel old.  I feel a bit desperate that this has crept up on me without me realising it.

What is worse than being 40?  I am not sure, but I am fairly sure it includes a bout of diahorrea and a case of athlete’s foot.

Skin doctor guy …

I have fairly light skin, light hair and blue eyes, so the result is that I am a skin cancer scare waiting to happen.

I am not much in the way of a sun-tanning bunny.  It is not that I am all self-righteous about the sun, it is just that I could not be arsed to sit around in it until the end of time to catch a tan.  But I also do not lather myself with sunscreen …

I am not very good with skin-routine, so if my face gets a wash with a Lux bar of soap, it can count itself lucky, and moisturizer and other globs of lotion are a bit of a pipe dream in my neck of the woods.

I mean to pop to my dermatologist once a year for a quick once over.  I like someone else to stare at my small dark spots and make a judgement, but I just have not got there this year.

Or for the last three years.

I decided I would get my arse there before year-end, and tick it off my “not quite as exciting as a bucket list” but really needs to be attended to.

I had my dermatologist appointment today.  I do not really have moles, I have freckles though.  The one thing that had been bothering me was that I had this mark on my nose, and one on the side of my nose.  It looks like I have cut the side/end of my nose, and that I have an indent from glasses on the side of my nose. And I don’t wear glasses.

It has been there for about two to three years.  Recently I have noticed it and now that I know it is there, I have really started to get concerned that “what if it is…..”

It was the main motivation for me going today.

Found a really great dermatologist with rather swish looking offices.  Clearly a caters towards a target audience that appreciates chandeliers and baroque inspired furniture.

He diligently went over my skin with a magnifying glass. It seems my skin is not bad considering I have been sunburnt to a crisp in my youth, and do not use any sunblock or moisturiser since.  I got a bit worried when he was sitting with a magnifying glass going over my toes – I believe there is a rogue long hair on my toe that I have been meaning to attend to, but there I was with all of me exposed.

But it appears that the little “cut” on my nose is indeed cancer and it needs to be removed.   Or pre-cancer. Or cancer that is not “a total emergency” but needs to be attended to.  Shortly.

I made an appointment for the 26 January – first gap I could get.  Dermatologists have a good gig it seems.

I am very thankful today that I have medical aid, and can get my arse to the odd medical checkup.  Had I had to spend 10 hours waiting in a public hospital for a little look over, odds are I would not have gone, and even if I had, I would have not been checked over by a dermatologist, and it would have been overlooked.

I would like to thank Discovery Medical Aid for relieving us of a large sum of money every month, but at the same time, if it was not for medical aid, I might only have seen to my “little cut” when my nose turned black and fell off.

When are you going for your dermatology check up?

Chariots of Fire ….

(This post was meant to go up on Friday, but following a series of unfortunate events, it only was posted today…)

I seldom look at myself in wonder, but today was one of those days.

This morning I got out of bed at 04h35 – it was not because a child was sick, or someone had wet their beds or because my waters were breaking.

I got up to slip myself into my rather fabulous camel-toe lycra pants, pulled on a comfortable yet support-offering bra.  Added to this little fashion statement was my bright green long sleeve running shirt (I know it is amazing what a person possesses who actually does not do any exercise what so ever – amazing stuff).

Clipped a light to my forehead.  Strapped a Garmin Forerunner thing on my arm and went to meet my new running buddy Alice for a little run.

Granted when she opened her door, and stepped out she looked at me with an expression that could only be interpreted as “what the fek are we thinking…”  But then off we skipped for our little walk/run/stumble.  We did a good hour of sweating and panting and felt like we had conquered the universe single handedly.

I got home and everyone was still asleep – and it was still dark!!

I have NEVER got out of bed by choice – EVER!  So besides being impressed by my ability to do something vaguely exercise related, the fact that I had to leave my warm and snuggly bed to do it, needs an award in it’s own right.

I got home, took a bath – I even made Kennith coffee.  I know the wonders just do not cease in this post.

I checked kids were up and getting ready for school.  I picked out some pretty clothes for Georgia as it was casual day.  I was so the mom from The Brady Bunch … I am sure I heard the theme song in the background.

I headed out the door with my Earl Grey tea in hand on my way to meet Vera – she of hair ripping fame.

Alice had in fact given me two Syndol that I did chew back about 45 minutes before, so all clean, shiny and drugged I was off to meet the infamous Vera.

Vera was all happy – I was all suspicious.  I was nervous she was going to hurt me, so I started to babble uncontrollably – I do this when I start to feel threatened.

I decided to relinquish control of all things body hair to Vera.

I said: “Why don’t I get undressed, I will lie on the bed with a pillow over my face to smother the screams and you can do what ever you think needs to be done.  The less you tell me the better … how does that sound to you?’

Vera said: “Okay, but how much do you want me to leave on?”

Me: “Let me leave that decision to you – I will not ask what you are doing, and I will not tell you what to do – let me just lie here and act like I am somewhere else, and let’s see how it goes.”

And well, off it went.  Vera worked like a bomb – I think she started with a set of boundaries, but then abandoned them at some point.

There were no social boundaries – and absolute no nook or cranny that Vera did not find.

She EVEN waxed my arms – hairy gorilla arms solved.  I did not realise the problem could go away that quickly.  I cannot tell you how elated I am.

At one point when she was spreading my butt-cheeks I did feel like I was in a scene from Prison Break, but seriously when I say that was the least of the “body invasion” moments I really mean it was the LEAST OF THE PROBLEMS I had to face.

I do not want to lie to you – it was not the best most fun morning I have ever had, it definitely hurt a bit, but it was not as bad as I anticipated.  Vera left me with two eyebrows (also waxed into shape) and the hair on my head.

I think I have found my new BFF ……. when I tell Kennith about my waxing experience, his question was “Did she wax your back?”

WTF?

Seriously that was his question … now I am embarrassed that I have a hairy back when I did not realise that was even an issue.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair ….

I have mentioned before that I have some strong genetic links to a hobbit. I have little tufts of hair on my fingers, my toes and other parts of my body that are best not mentioned.

I also hate shaving, not just a bit, but really a lot.  I just do not have the time.  The odds of me in a leisurely shower taking time to shave is pretty much non-existent, I can count the times on my one hand when I have had a bath alone in the last two months, so shaving is an event in my house.

Part of the reason that I really do not make the time, is that it a pointless exercise for me.  If I shave now, by tomorrow morning I will have stubble, and by tomorrow evening full 5 o’clock shadow across my legs and other regions.

I cannot quite express how bad the situation is, without showing you pictures – and even I realise in doing that will be crossing a line that neither of us will be able to return from.

Though the hair on my head if reasonably light, the hair on my body has a distinct Mediterranean feel about it.  The only redeeming characteristic is that I do not have hair on my back.  One sometimes has to be reminded of the small things to be thankful for.

To cut a long story short, I am over the idea of shaving, and have opted out of it for a bit now.

It does nothing for me and actually just wastes my time. I have chosen to live a non-shaved life for about a month plus.  It has had limits on my wardrobe and I live in fear of being involved in some sort of traffic accident and them taking me to hospital, while I am unconscious.

At least if I was conscious I would be able to explain why my bikini area looks the way it does, but lying there immobile, is not going to do me any favours and I know there will be photos on YouTube with captions.

Once the hair situation gets to a certain level, you really do start caring less, because it just is so ridiculous and you realise the time it is going to take to shave through the forest you have cultivated.

I went for a run/stumble last night.  Kennith asked me if I experienced much wind resistance as he looked at the mountain gorilla hair on my legs.  My leg hair was sort of curling over my socks – even with my rather low standards, I realise that is not something that should be allowed.

I was hoping to just stop caring, but I am not quite there yet – so all is not lost quite yet.

I have an appointment with Vera for tomorrow morning at 7am.  So while you are snuggly wrapped up in your duvet, or having your first bowel movement of the morning, think of me as Vera stands and pours hot wax on my nether regions and pulls it out.  Hair, roots and all, with all her might.

My friend Alice has been trying to convince me to have a Brazilian (the wax, rather than a person who was birthed in Brazil) and have Vera do it.  Alice suggested taking two Syndols and I would not feel anything.  I am sure even after two Syndols I will feel someone taking the hair by the roots outta my crack, unless Syndols have got really good lately.  But with that in mind, I will stop and grab a crate after fetching kids from school this afternoon.

I got strangely suspicious of Vera as she appeared to get more excited the more I explained how much hair I have.  But I made the appointment and there we are – I am already getting all nervous.  I know there is going to be crying and screaming.

I can’t promise you before and after photos – though I am tempted to do them.  I might not even blog tomorrow as I may need to be hospitalized for trauma, but that is what I have planned for 7am tomorrow morning.

What have you got on?

Auditioning for Lord of the Rings ……

I have noticed some disturbing trends of late … hair in abundance in places I would prefer it not to be ….

I have reasonably light features but somehow my hair growth makes me look like an extra from Gorillas in the Mist.  I am not referring to Dian Fossey and her research crew, more the gorillas who were actually in the mist.  Right now I could extra for that show with very little makeup.

I have always detested shaving.  It is such a thankless brain-numbing task.  As soon as you are done, you need to be searching for the next new razor blade to pretty much start the job again.

Then you shave and shave, and you end up wearing long pants all week.  So at some point you start to reason, hell, who will notice if I skip one or three months? I mean, who will know? Right?

I tried waxing – initially I tried waxing myself.  This was back in the day when you had a pot and a large globule of brown wax that had a similar consistency to Wilson toffee.

I won’t tell you the part where you put the hairy wax back in the pot to make it hot again so you can re-use it … I will wait a while until you have finished gagging.

Feeling better?  Should I carry on?

Being the impatient personality type I am, I would always figure that making the wax hotter and spreading it in larger areas will cut down my effort and increase my results in a shorter period of time.

The problem is that when you spread a 30 x 20cm square of boiling hot brown sticky wax on your leg, you always realize as it is going on, that it is so hot that it is burning your skin off.  But there is nothing you can do once boiling wax is being lathered on your leg … by you!!

The wax eventually dries and cools.  You realize you are now faced with the next step of the operation – you have to rip it off.

Wax like plasters, does not work if done slowly.  One has to grab the corner, brace yourself and just rip it off.

One of the many problems with using wax that is too hot, is that it has now burnt/melted/adhered the first few layers of your skin to the wax.

You know this, as you can already feel the sensation of the “sunburn” under the wax now that it has cooled … but you need to rip it off.

You do toy with just leaving it there, putting pants on and hoping in time it will slowly fall off, but if you have tried this in the past, you realize there is no easy option to the dilemma you are now facing.

So you bear down and rip the wax off.

It takes the skin off (as you predicted) and because you are about to faint from shock, and have not ripped the wax in the correct direction, and inevitably you leave half the hair behind.

You are left with a third degree burn that is so sensitive it is starting to blister, and patches of hair that did not come out with the wax.  Sweet plan this, execution however has been left wanting!

It is all very demoralizing, and makes you start to think being hairy is not as bad as they say.

For several years I reverted back to shaving and then using chemical hair removal stuff.  The problem with Immac/Veet or No-Hair is it usually smells like toilet disinfectant.

You have to lather it on your areas that you wish to be hairless – certain areas you wish to be hairless, while in certain areas you wish to well, retain some, well bush – the result is that you are left standing in a prone position in the bathroom lathered like a toffee apple, and then have to remain spread eagled for about 5 – 10 minutes while your growth is being dissolved.

It is all a bit humiliating and again you start weighing up how bad too much hair actually is on  girl.

There are few moments where I am ever left undisturbed in the bathroom.  The chances of being lathered and left alone spread eagled in my bathroom for 10 minutes, is a sweet sweet dream, but not realistic.

I returned to waxing, but paid someone money to hurt me.  This relationship worked well for about a year, but it really is just not fun.

I also take exception to someone working in my pubic area without at least buying me a bottle/glass of wine first.  So that relationship ended, and all the hair grew back, and it brought some more hair with it.

I have reverted back to shaving.

Which brings me to my next problem – ever tried shaving with three kids in the bath with you?

I am not even going to comment on the obvious hygiene issues and the slightly off-putting hair floating on a sea of oil in the bath.  But there are logistics constraints that need to be factored in.

The result is that shaving has stopped being a standard bathroom procedure and instead has turned in to an occasion, and event shall we say.

When the hair on my legs starts to overlap on my socks then I realize that possibly I need to schedule some shave time.

But that being said, that is actually not the main gripe  of my post today.

I have a lovely ring which I like nothing more to show off and have people gush adoringly at.  The problem is that while showing off my ring I realized I have tufts of hair on that section of my finger between my knuckle and the first finger joint.

What the hell?

Never noticed it before, but there we are – I have tufts of disturbingly dark hair that in some cases are long enough to fall ON TOP OF THE FEK’N DIAMOND!!

I am sure that people looking at the ring have noticed and have decided not to mention it … a bit like when someone you are speaking to, spits at you and it lands on your bottom lip.

You know it is there, they know it is there, but there is just not a polite way to address it.

Pretty much like my hairy finger tufts … I thought I would shave them off to solve the problem IMMEDIATELY.  But the sane part of me did reason that this would of course cause a slightly larger problem in 3 – 6 days.  So I am going to go and have the fekkers waxed.

I am a bit embarrassed at how I am going to ask for it … I might end up getting a Brazilian wax just to not make it awkward when I ask her to wax my fingers.  I mean if I can lie there like a porn star, then finger tufts should definitely be less of a problem – right?

I realize that I should not be blogging about tufts of hair on my hands that make me look like a cast member from the Hobbit, but there you are I am nothing if honest – which brings me to my next problem.

Why, why, why in Darwin’s picture of evolution or your version of creation, would women have hair around their nipples!!?

Is there any purpose to these stray hairs that start off rather insignificantly and then next thing you look they are long and thick and even starting to curl a bit like ribbon on a present … it is all disturbing.

The other day I had to pluck a granny hair off my chin … surely it is only a matter of time before I start having to use that little gadget-that-cuts-your-hair-in-your-nose-and-ears thing.